Innocence is the days when
I thought that monsters
lived under the bed rather
than slept right beside me.
It was the times I feared
heights almost as much as
I now fear brooding stares.
Back when I thought
passionate love was the
only kind worth having
— that I now wish for a
lover who loves quietly.
Innocence was thinking
danger was an ill-advised
adventure, not a man.
It was admiring a tornado
heart and not realizing the
damage it would cause.